Debt

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  He started, sensing a presence behind him.
  “There aren’t many people who can sneak up on me,” he reflected.
  “I didn’t,” the form replied, quietly. “I’ve followed you for a long time; since your very beginning, in fact. And, waited patiently.”
  “I was a good man… once,” he whispered, as realization dawned. “After I was broken, it just became too painful to care.”
  “Life is often that way,” the figure offered. “But, I am not here to judge; only to collect the debt each man must pay.”
  Examining his own body on the ground, he nodded; then turned to follow.

The Inevitability of Things

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

Inspired by Christina Alvarado

  He’s always there. Always following. Steadily gaining ground. Inexorably closing in.
  Too often, he’s forgotten in the rush of life – until he visits someone close, and we’re reminded of the inevitability of things.
  He arrives without joy or malice. He makes no bargains for more time. He expects acceptance, though he is never surprised when people attempt escape.
  I turn quickly, trying to catch a glimpse. He is standing in the shadows. Not hiding – that’s not his way. Moonlight glints off the blade of his scythe.
  “Memento mori,” he whispers.
  I give a knowing nod, and turn to walk on.

Heaven and Hell

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay.

  “My boyfriend is in the other room,” she rasped, as his right hand slipped under her skirt and up between her legs.
  “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered.
  The fingers of his left hand entangled in her hair. He tugged, tilting her head back; exposing her neck to his lips.
  “Tell me to stop,” he mumbled, his mouth barely leaving her flesh, “and I will.”
  “You’re going to send me to hell,” she objected; already fighting for breath.
  In the darkness, his lips curved into a wicked grin.
  “Maybe,” he allowed. “But, I’ll take you to heaven first.”

Retreat

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For "Her."

  His eyes were drawn to her instantly. Like a firefly in the dark, she was a brilliant flash in the gloom. Catching sight of him, she waved. Memories flooded his brain: how he'd craved her like a drug; the indescribable pain of her leaving; how he'd desperately clung to shreds of sanity while hoping she'd come back, and how she did – more times than he'd admit – only to abandon him once he'd surrendered again. In that moment, his heart realized – finally, reluctantly, accepting – loving her would always end that way. He managed a weary smile, then turned to walk away.

Salvation

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

Inspired by J.S.

  He found something almost religious in making a woman cum; something beyond her calling out to a deity who may or may not exist; beyond the sound of her breathing; the taste of her; the smell of her; the feel of her body. It was the look on her face as an orgasm consumed her – the purity; the erotic symmetry of pleasure and pain twisting her features – that promised salvation.
  Worshiping at her altar – knelt between her legs; his prayers kisses along inner thighs; fingers and tongue eliciting hymns of praise; bodies entangled – their holy spirits discovered ecstasy transcending flesh.

Confessions

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Every eye in the hall turned to seek the source of the explosion of laughter filling the air. Their attention focused on the most beautiful woman in the room – suddenly the most beautiful woman in the world – clinging tightly to his right arm. Her smile, and the slowly fading giggles she struggled to control, ignited a fire in his soul, and proved that she was the right one for him.
  Just moments before, she’d leaned close and whispered, “I’m not wearing panties tonight.”
  He’d carefully considered this confession for a second, gazed into her eyes, and said, “Neither am I.”

Revelation

By Bud Koenemund

  He slouched on a park bench as heavy flakes of snow fell. Forcing his eyes open, he tried to watch them descend through the muted, yellow illumination of gaslights lining the walkway before him. The agony in his chest, however, made it difficult to focus on anything beyond taking the next breath.
  Blood trickled over his stomach in thin rivulets, soaking his shirt and pants. It dripped to the concrete below and quickly froze. Hearing movement behind him, he tried to turn, but a lightning bolt of pain ripped through his upper body.
  “Is that you, Yuri?” he asked the darkness.
  “Da,” a voice answered.
  “I figured it out,” he said. “Just too late.”
  “Always trust your gut,” Yuri said. “This is what you Americans say, is it not?”
  “I’ll remember that next time,” he said, with a laugh that devolved into a choking cough.
  “For you, my friend, I fear there will be no next time,” Yuri replied, taking a seat on the bench opposite his.
  He nodded, but remained silent for nearly a minute.
  “How did you find me?” he asked, finally.
  “This is your favorite place,” Yuri answered.
  His head lifted drunkenly.
  “How do you know that?” he asked.
  “Matthew,” Yuri clucked, “give me some credit, please.”
  He drooped at the sound of his real name.
  “We’ve learned much about you over the years,” Yuri assured him.
  Yuri stood and slowly approached him.
  “Perhaps it is fitting our little game ends here,” Yuri said, removing a pistol from his coat.
  Matt thought of the girl he’d kissed, right here on this bench – the first real kiss for both of them. Her face materialized in his mind: her curly red hair; striking blue eyes. He’d loved her, and told her so. She’d requited the sentiment. It was love before either truly knew what love is.
  “Goodbye…” Yuri began.
  Matt didn’t hear the shot. But, the thud of a large caliber bullet striking a human body, and the sickening sound of the air being forced out of Yuri’s lungs, was unmistakable. For a moment, a confused look twisted Yuri’s face. He staggered backward, his arms went limp, and he crumpled to the ground.
  “Goodbye, Yuri,” Matt wheezed.
  “You are a fool,” a female voice said.
  “I’ve never been accused of being very smart,” he said.
  “Letting him shoot you, though?” she mused.
  “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” he joked.
  The woman stepped out of the shadows.
  “Hello, Lyla,” Matt groaned.
  “You Americans…” she said, “always so foolishly heroic.”
  “That’s us,” he agreed.
  “Hmmm… at least you helped us uncover the traitor,” she admitted.
  “You’re welcome,” he said.
  “You should get to the hospital before you bleed out,” Lyla advised.
  Three men joined them in the light. Without a word, they retrieved Yuri’s gun; then lifted his body and carried it away. Lyla followed them into the gloom.
  “Oh, no; don’t worry,” Matt called out; struggling to stand. “I can make it on my own.”

Semicolon

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Her mouth moved along his collarbone; planting gentle kisses as she went. Sliding over his shoulder, she spied a tattoo. Even in the dim light, she recognized the symbol.
  “What’s this?” she asked, quietly.
  He turned his head to see what she meant.
  “It’s a semicolon,” he answered.
  “I know that,” she said, her fingertips brushing over the ink. “But, why?”
  “It’s a punctuation mark used to carry on when you could’ve just ended things,” he explained. “And, some people use it to remember.”
  “Remember what?” she prodded, then realized. “Did you…”
  “I carried on,” he whispered, pulling her closer.

Pale Moonlight Memory

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For M.

  We know each other, now, only “on-line;” trading “Likes;” sharing memes, and the occasional message to say “hi.” But, when she posted a tweet joking about her pale skin, my memory took me back more than 25 years; to a tiny kitchen filled with bright moonlight; her naked body luminescent in the beams flooding through the window: glowing like some ethereal being caught, if only briefly, in an unworthy mortal’s sight. I recall the warmth of her flesh – an almost incandescent heat – when we touched, and the regret of a moment that can never be recaptured… except in my mind.

I Know Your Fantasies

By Bud Koenemund

A 200 Word Story

  “I want to be loved and respected,” she said.
  “You deserve that,” he replied. “Someone who will make sure you’ve eaten, and that you get enough sleep; who sends you ‘good morning, beautiful’ texts, and tells you to be careful when you leave the house.”
  She stared at him.
  “But,” he continued, “I’ve seen your social media accounts. I’ve seen the stuff you ‘Like’ and re-blog, and I know what you really want. I know your fantasies.”
  “I…” she began.
  “You want to be dominated,” he interrupted. “You want to be controlled; tied up; handcuffed; gagged; used; slapped; spanked, and called names.”
  “Oh, my God,” she moaned, quietly.
  “You want someone to pull your hair, and wrap their hand around that pretty neck of yours,” he growled, not pausing. “And, you want to be fucked hard until you can’t even think.”
  Her gaze fell to the floor and she blushed.
  “Look at me,” he commanded.
  Hesitantly, she complied.
  “And, after all that,” he said, “you want to be cared for, and cuddled to sleep.”
  His fingers slid between her legs; brushing her inner thighs.
  “If you want me to stop, say so,” he whispered. “Otherwise, you’re my little whore now.”

Fever Dream Redux

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  JFK to Paris is a long flight. He’d picked these seats purposefully: last row; a red-eye. Once the plane leveled off, she requested a blanket. After covering them both, she smiled as he nodded.
  His fingers slipped between her legs, tracing along her inner thigh; then pressing against her clit through the wet-look pleather leggings she’d worn because she likes how he stares at her when she does. Her mouth fell open in a gasp.
  He enjoyed knowing she’d struggle to remain silent as he made her cum several times. Then she’d sleep well for the rest of the flight.

The Sundress

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  Sunlight spilled through the windows – the open blinds creating geometric patterns on the floor. She leaned back, lounging on a hardwood chair. Legs spread. The folds of her cotton sundress piled between her thighs. It played tricks on his eyes. Perhaps it was the heat… or his drink.
  She traced the top of her tumbler with a forefinger as ice cubes clinked. Droplets formed by condensation crept downward, dripping onto her leg – wetting the flesh just above her knee.
  He watched as she swirled the brown liquid, then drank it down. She stared at him for a moment then smiled.

Spaghetti

By Bud Koenemund

  The question hung in the air long enough for him to know her answer would be a lie.
  “No,” Amy said, finally.
  The right corner of his mouth curved up, just a millimeter.
  “Never?” he challenged. “Not even all the times you two went on vacation together, and got drunk every night?”
  More silence. He waited.
  “Well…” she began. “Once, in Cabo – we were both buzzed – I woke up during the night, and May was between my legs, eating me out.”
  “What did you do?” he asked.
  “What do you mean?” she returned.
  “Did you tell her to stop?” he pressed.
  “N… no,” she admitted.
  “Then you liked it?” he observed.
  “No,” she objected, a little too vehemently.
  “Then, why didn’t you stop her?” he charged.
  Her gaze fell to the floor.
  “Because, I wanted to cum,” she whispered.
  “So, you liked it,” he stated.
  “I mean… in the moment,” she allowed. “Yes.”
  He tried to reply, but she interrupted.
  “I’m straight,” she blurted. “I would never do that sober.”
  “What you do drunk is what your subconscious wants,” he countered.
  She didn’t protest. A soft knock drew their attention to the door. A moment later, May entered the room.

Trapped

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  She was trapped and she knew it. He stared at her; waiting for an answer. Remaining silent wasn’t an option. Nor, could she equivocate by saying “Whatever would make you happy, Sir.” He’d made it sound like she had a choice, but she knew he was only teasing her… testing her. The handcuffs dangled from a forefinger, swaying back and forth in front of her face; reflecting light into her eyes.
  Slowly, her trepidation turned to anticipation as she remembered how many times he’d made her cum last time.
  “Please handcuff me, Sir,” she purred.
  He smiled as he stood.

Torture

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  He loved to torture her; making her cum in public. In dangerous places; where they might be caught. Here, on the dark balcony, with people inside, talking and laughing. Her ass rubbed against him as she squirmed. He had one strong hand between her legs; the other on her chest, holding her so she wouldn’t collapse.
  “Oh, God,” she rasped.
  Her right hand clapped over her mouth as if trying to capture the words that had just escaped.
  “Quiet,” he whispered, smiling. “Or, do you want them to come out and see what a desperate, wet, little slut you are?”

Reflection

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For James

  Pale moonlight filtered through the dirty window panes, supplementing the meager illumination provided by half a dozen candles. The ancient Medium shuffled to her table – the movement stirring up dust which drifted in the gloom. Taking a seat before her crystal ball, she waved her hands back and forth over it, calling for an image to appear. Her old eyes struggled to focus. Finally, she recognized the dark figure – one she'd seen here many times. A moment later, she realized this was no vision, but a reflection from behind.
  "I've been waiting for you," she sighed, "...for a long time."

Tell Me What You Want

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  Even as he dominated her, she could sense his care – desire and respect, control and freedom – all at once. One hand twisted her hair; the other thrust between her legs – fingers roughly manipulating her clit.
  She squirmed, but his body pressed her against the wall; both pinning her in place, and preventing her from falling as she writhed. His lips trailed over her neck while she moaned.
  “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, breaking contact.
  She fought for the breath to form words.
  “Tell me,” he repeated. “Or, I’ll stop.”
  Her body shuddered.
  “Please…” she panted. “I need to…”

You'll Be Damned

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  The hardest part of accepting you’re not a superhero anymore is the realization that truth, justice, and the American way aren’t black and white. They all exist in shades of gray. And, one day – perhaps more than one – you have to make the decision to do a little wrong in order to do a greater right. The difficulty isn’t in worrying about being caught by someone else: it’s living with yourself; with the death of your idealism. After believing in something with everything you are – then violating it – you feel your heart break… and know you’ll be damned for it.

I'm the Guy

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  I’m the guy who remembers little things you said six months ago – things you don’t even remember saying. I’m the guy who brags about how smart, and pretty, and funny you are. I’m the guy who sends “Good morning, Beautiful” texts, just to let you know I’m thinking about you. I’m the guy who tries to cheer you up after a bad day; who lives to see you smile; who’d bring you chicken noodle soup when you’re sick; who can talk about everything… and who knows when to say nothing.
  But, I’m never the guy you fall in love with.

What I Miss

 By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Last night, I dreamt about you. Nothing momentous, or erotic; just an ordinary scene that faded quickly when I woke to the sadness of your absence, and the knowledge that I can’t even send you a “Good morning, Beautiful” text to enjoy the smile that – once upon a time – would have spread across your face when you realized I’m thinking about you. And, often, you’d send back a “blushing emoji,” because you don’t believe you’re beautiful. But, I’d say it every day – because it’s true – and I had hoped to make you understand it.
  That’s what I miss the most.